


you can take my heart (if yours won't beat)

by iwillalwaysbelieve



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i meant to it just....didn't happen, i'm so sorry dowoon isn't mentioned at all, immortal!younghyun, time traveler!jae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillalwaysbelieve/pseuds/iwillalwaysbelieve
Summary: jae still isn't 100% sure how he and sungjin managed the whole time travel thing. but he is sure he's seen the same man in two places, five hundred years apart, and he's determined to get to the bottom of this.





	you can take my heart (if yours won't beat)

**Author's Note:**

> for the jaehyungparkian ship week, as put together on twitter by @day6sailing!!
> 
> title is from hot chelle rae's forever unstoppable, which is the only thing i had playing as i wrote for about ten hours in total lmao

“you ready?” sungjin is peering worriedly at jae, oblivious to the smear of grease down his cheek. jae nods, tugs at the hem of his tunic, and together they set the controls, double-check all the dials, and finally sungjin steps out of the room. his voice crackles over the intercom: “good luck, don’t do anything—”

before he can finish there’s a flash of light in jae’s vision and everything disappears.

 

…

 

there’s a breeze on his cheeks, raised voices echoing in the wind, what jae registers as screaming a moment later than maybe he should have. his eyes snap open and then widen, and he stumbles, tries not to let his legs give out.

he’s in the right place, he’s made it—but not the right time. he curses, glances around in the desperate hopes that his way back would still be open, but all he sees is the rice field in one direction and a town on fire in the other. horses canter through the streets, men and women and children flee desperately, and swords clash as soldiers meet, and jae wishes they’d spent a little more time researching. the details about when the war had actually started were fuzzy, and clearly they should have erred on the side of caution a little more.

jae has no intention of dying in the wrong century, so he’s about to go find a place to hide in the rice field and wait it out until sungjin pulls him back, and then he sees the child.

a girl, can’t be older than three, waddling into the middle of the street, scraped and screaming. a soldier, one of the ones in red—the attackers, jae has figured out—rounds a corner further down the street, sees the little girl, raises his sword and starts toward her.

for all he knows his job is not to meddle jae can’t just let a kid die, so he judges the man’s walking speed and starts running, mentally cursing the slippers sungjin had insisted on. he reaches the girl with the soldier still halfway down the street, scoops her up and skids to a halt to consider his options.

they aren’t good. the closest alley is in the direction of the soldier, and he has no way of knowing if it’s a dead end, and behind him is only the field.

the girl keeps screaming, and the soldier keeps approaching, and then something jerks jae to the side, pulls him stumbling up two little stairs, and slams a door behind him. a soldier clad in the colors of the army jae thinks is defending the town presses his back against the door and a finger to his lips, scowling at him. the girl has stopped screaming in her surprise, and jae supposes he should thank some higher being, because this allows the soldier to lead them through the house with a relative manner of stealth.

he and his blade are dripping crimson, dark hair falling out of a ponytail, and he moves with the confidence of a man born to this kind of situation; jae stumbles behind him with the little girl clinging to his tunic, both young man and child wide-eyed and shocked, until they slip through a back door into an alley, step around bodies that jae does his best not to look at. when a soldier steps through a side door just in front of them jae opens his mouth to scream, but his soldier slaps a bloody hand over jae’s lips, glares in an expression that very clearly reads _shut up_.

after a moment jae realizes the soldier wears the defenders’ colors and relaxes marginally.

“general,” the soldier whispers, bowing quickly. “the main battle is in the square. nearly over, i believe.”

jae’s soldier nods. “lead the way.”

the two soldiers hurry down the narrow street, and jae hesitates. he’s not all that inclined to head _toward_ a battle, but a scream from the street behind him startles him into catching up with his soldier—his _general_.

the clash of blades, the cacophony of voices, the clatter of hooves threaten to deafen jae as they reach the square, but the soldiers just set their shoulders and raise their blades. the general turns to jae, jerks his head toward a nearby house. “you’ll be safe enough there. wait until i come and find you.”

jae nods.

“general kang!” the general gives a last grim smile to jae and returns to his soldier, and together they join the chaos.

jae reaches the house unscathed, stumbles toward the low table, and sets the girl down, groaning in relief as he gets to shake out his aching arms. it’s a good thing they planned this trip for only half an hour, because he’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

he does what he can to keep the girl calm as the battle rages on outside the house, pulls dumb faces until she giggles, lets her play with his ring.

it must be getting close to time for sungjin to pull him back when the door slams open. the girl screams, and jae whips around to see a soldier—and not a friendly one. his sword flicks blood onto the wall when he lifts it, advances toward them, and jae’s breath catches in his throat. there’s nothing he can do but put his body between the soldier and the little girl and wait for the downswing of the sword.

it never comes: there’s a flash of silver and a _whump_ and the soldier folds around a second blade, his sword clattering to the ground, and when he falls jae’s general stands behind him. a pause; and then the general approaches, kneels, sets his sword aside and takes jae’s face in his hands.

“are you hurt?” the only thing jae can manage to do is shake his head. “the girl?” another shake of his head and the general relaxes. “that was the last of the soldiers. you’ll be alright now.”

nearly nose-to-nose jae realizes the general is young, fox-like features smeared with blood, and maybe now he can’t breathe for more reasons than fear.

“you?” general kang raises an eyebrow. “are you hurt?” jae has this _need_ to know this man is okay, a visceral horror at the thought of him dying after saving jae.

“nothing i cannot handle.” as jae lets out a shaky breath the hum starts again, the one signalling the beginning of the pull of time: his half-hour is up.

“i’m jae,” he says, trying desperately to memorize general kang’s features. “have a good life.”

“what—” there’s a flash of light, and the world disappears.

 

…

 

cold concrete jars his eyes open, and then sungjin is bursting into the room, frantic. for the second time in maybe sixty seconds jae is asked if he’s okay, but this time his answer doesn’t seem to satisfy.

“why are you covered in blood? what the hell happened?”

after a moment he looks up at sungjin, laughs. “it worked.”

“yes, it worked. but that’s not the concern right now.”

“the dates in the texts were wrong,” jae says. “the war had already started.”

sungjin settles back on his heels, stunned. “are you okay?”

it’s the only thing he seems capable of saying, and jae doesn’t begrudge him that. after all, they’ve just managed something considered impossible. “fine. next time, though, maybe something a little more peaceful.”

 

…

 

the poofy shorts are, to be quite honest, ridiculous. but they conferred with a history professor at the college in town and this is what’s accurate, so jae’s stuck in them. he blinks back to awareness in a back alley in venice, sea salt heavy in the air, and tugs at his shorts to readjust them.

he has a full day this time, so he’s fine with taking his time to wander the city, and sets about to do so, marvels at the graceful stone of the palaces, peruses a little bookstore for a while, impressed by the variety of languages found on the shelves. just around noon he asks a shopkeeper for directions to the docks and goes for a stroll, dodges the contents of a few chamber pots, and rounds a corner to see the docks. at once he’s delighted: it’s the perfect kind of bustle to get lost in, to see people from a multitude of countries in this foreign time period. he dives into the crowd and lets himself get pushed along by the ebb and flow of workers and merchants and traders and sailors, lets the translator do its work on the countless languages being tossed about.

and then he hears a man say “it’s been a while, kang,” and his head snaps up and he catches a glimpse of dark hair and sharp fox eyes before the venetian and the man jae is almost _positive_ is his general kang disappear into the crowd.

but there’s no way that’s true, this is 500 years after the war in goryeo, it _can’t_ be—jae shoves his way through the crowd, tossing apologies as he brushes past people, until he can see the hanbok again, follows it, tries desperately to get close enough to see the man’s face clearly.

and then they pass a window, and—it _is._

somehow, impossibly, general kang is walking the streets of venice 500 years after he should have died, and jae’s breath catches in his throat. he speeds up, then, waits impatiently until the merchant finishes his deal with general kang, and surges forward.

jae catches the general by the arm, and this time it’s his turn to drag him to a secluded area: a dead-end alley leading off the docks.

“how—how the _hell_ —”

general kang’s eyes widen. “jae?”

jae stutters to a stop before he can manage the rest of his question. “you remember my name?”

“of course i do—it’s a little hard to forget a time traveler.”

“you—how do you know i’m a time traveler? i didn’t have time to tell you in goryeo.”

“we met again in the levant?” general kang seems just as confused as jae, and then his brow smooths and he grins a little, and when he’s not covered in blood and fighting for his life jae has to admit he’s _beautiful_. “we’re out of order.”

“we’re _what_?” jae is still confused. the only thing he knows about this conversation is that the levant is a term for the coast of the eastern mediterranean, somewhere around syria. “i don’t—how—what the hell is going on?”

general kang’s grin just widens. “let me buy you lunch.” he won’t accept any of jae’s questions until they’ve bought food and found a little stone wall to perch on and eat. “alright. questions?”

“how the ever-living _fuck_ are you still alive?”

“i’m immortal.”

jae nearly drops his apple. “you’re _what_?”

“cannot die.”

“i know what it _means_ , but how? when?”

“i’m not quite certain, if i may be honest. discovered it when i woke up on a battlefield with a sword sticking out of my chest. i believe i did die, then, but something brought me back to life. the gods, fate, something like that. i decided it would be better to make a new life for myself, to not be as important of a figure in the country after that. there are a few others, scattered around the world, i believe.”

“you—that’s—okay, alright, fine, that’s fine.” jae feels like his head is about to explode. he thinks maybe he shouldn’t be this shocked that immortality is real: for fuck’s sake, he’s _time-traveling_ , but he can’t seem to wrap his mind around this concept. “what did you mean about meeting in the levant?”

“exactly that. i forget what year it was, to be honest, but not that long after we first met. some time just before the first crusades. you told me you were a time traveler, and we spent a day together.” there’s something wistful about general kang’s expression, as though there’s something special in his memory of the day in the levant.

“okay. damn. first crusades...i’ll have to do some research. if you’re not a general anymore, then, what should i call you?”

“just younghyun.” the former general takes a bite of his own apple, a shimmer in his eyes saying he finds blowing jae’s mind fun. “how long do we have this time?”

“a day. nineteen hours, i guess, i got here this morning.”

“let’s spend it well, then. what would you like to do while you’re in venice?”

“anything.” jae matches younghyun’s grin, stands. “everything.”

they finish their food as they walk, as younghyun shows jae his favorite public garden and plucks a flower to tuck it in jae’s hair, as he introduces jae to a merchant who deals in semi-precious stones and lets jae choose an emerald ring and laughs at some private joke when the merchant says emeralds are for love and jae must have a wonderful woman waiting for him. they wander into the same bookstore jae found earlier, tour younghyun’s ship, find a tavern and talk for hours.

younghyun refuses to tell jae any about his past, speaks only of his travels in this “lifetime” he’s set up for himself, says he won’t give anything away.

it’s familiar, somehow, like meeting a distant relative, and at once exhilarating and comfortable, and jae finds himself wishing they had more time. a funny thing to say, for a time traveler.

perched in the rigging of younghyun’s ship a few hours later, jae has a realization that the day has been awfully like a date, and a second realization that he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

with an hour to go he studies younghyun’s face, lit by the moon and the torches dancing on the docks, and acknowledges the glowing in his chest. several times he sees younghyun look at him with some sort of longing, but they don’t speak about it.

with fifteen seconds left jae becomes conscious of the fact that he doesn’t know _where_ in the levant, and he turns to younghyun. “what city do i find you in?”

younghyun hesitates, understandable when he has 500 years of memory to search through. “i think it was je—”

before he can finish there’s a flash of light, and the venice night and younghyun’s voice disappear.

 

…

 

“ _i_ _mmortal_?”

“i know it sounds ridiculous, but sungjin, listen, it was him.”

“it does sound ridiculous, you’re right.”

“look, you don’t have to believe me—”

“good, because i don’t.”

“but whatever the case, i want to find this city. i don’t really know the name, but—”

“how do you expect me to research it, then?”

“it started with a j, that’s all i know.”

“that, and the crusades.”

“yep.”

“if he really _is_ an immortal, the crusades must have been important, if he remembers them. the only city in the region that was a feature of the crusades with the right letter was jerusalem.”

 

…

 

jae has twenty-four hours to scour the city of jerusalem for kang younghyun, to find him and explain things. today, he can’t waste time taking in the sights of the city, as nice as they are--instead, he stops a passing man.

“i’m looking for a...cousin, kang younghyun?”

“is he from the east as well?” jae nods. “a trader?”

“i’m—not sure.”

“not sure i can help you, then. but try the market—everyone in the city ends up at the market at some time at the week’s end.”

the man gives jae directions, brushes off jae’s thanks, and they part. jae scans the face of everyone he passes, desperate not to miss younghyun, but comes up empty for three hours.

he’s found a seat on a wall by the main street of the market, fiddling anxiously with his emerald ring, and he’s sure the merchants are getting frustrated by him sitting and not buying anything. but he won’t give up, not when he knows he finds younghyun at some point—and then he looks up from adjusting his seat on the wall and his eyes meet a familiar dark pair.

but younghyun’s eyes widen and he turns and slips through the crowd, almost as though he’s scared. frantic, jae stands and follows, ignoring the curses he receives as he pushes people aside. he catches up just as younghyun rounds a corner, manages to grab his wrist and spin him around and make him still, though younghyun fights jae’s grip and brings the basket he clutches up to his chest as though a shield.

“younghyun, hear me out.”

“how do you know my name?” there’s something—not quite fear, maybe apprehension—in younghyun’s eyes, that throws jae off for a moment.

“we’ve met.”

“once, and then you vanished right in front of me. are you the god that brought me back to life?”

despite the tension of the situation, jae snorts. “me? a god? definitely not.”

“what, then? you were there one moment, the next gone. explain that to me.”

“why don’t we find a place to sit, and i’ll explain everything,” jae promises, and younghyun nods slowly.

“first, though, i have errands to complete.”

jae raises an eyebrow. “errands are more important than my explanation?”

“there’s no need to think so highly of yourself,” younghyun says, a hint of the sarcastic man jae found in venice creeping in despite his continued apprehension. “my master is expecting his midday meal, and therefore i must have the ingredients to the cook within the hour.”

“master?” younghyun nods. “are you…a servant?”

again, younghyun nods. “it’s rather a nice change of pace, and my master is a kind man.”

jae shrugs. “i have the rest of the day, so lead the way.”

as they turn to head back toward the market younghyun studies jae’s face. “you speak so oddly. is that the manner of speech in the realm of the gods?”

jae laughs again. “i told you, i’m not a god. far from it, to be honest.”

younghyun barters for his purchases with the ease of practice, greets the merchants with familiarity, and then leads jae down twisting streets to a sprawling, beautifully-kept home. he slips through a gate and a side door, hands his basket to the man bent over a cutting board chopping meat.

“the items you asked for, farran.”

“thank you,” the man says, hardly looking up. “who is this?”

“an...old friend. if you have no other tasks for me i would like to spend some time speaking with him in the garden.”

“that will be fine.”

clearly dismissed, jae follows younghyun into a tidy little garden, takes a seat beside him on a stone bench, and younghyun turns to eye jae.

“explain.”

“okay, so, you might not believe me, but i’m from the future.”

“the future.” younghyun seems unimpressed.

“a little under a thousand years in the future, yeah. my friend and i figured out how to travel through time.”

“and you say you’re not a god.” younghyun laughs a little. jae’s missed his laugh.

“i’m not. we used science, not magic. although, i guess, with how far advanced our science is, after that much time, it might seem like magic to you. as far as my culture is concerned, magic doesn’t exist.” again younghyun laughs, and jae laughs with him this time. “i know. you’re an immortal, right?”

this startles younghyun, who stops laughing. “how did you know?”

“as i said, i’m a time traveler. i met you—i’ll meet you again in venice, in a few hundred years. the second time for me after goryeo, and i think the third time for you. that’s when you told me your name, as well.”

“time traveling.” younghyun rolls the syllables around on his tongue, considering, and jae sits patiently. “alright. i suppose it would be hypocritical of me not to believe it, when i cannot die.”

jae grins, and finally younghyun does as well, and jae thinks maybe he melts a little at the sight. “i have a little under a day until i return to my time,” jae says. “how would you like to spend that time?”

this time they relax, rather than explore the city. younghyun has a limited amount of time free in the afternoon, as he has chores around the household, but he shows jae around the garden and allows jae to help prune the flowers.

jae is introduced to younghyun’s master, a man of middling age with a sharp mind and soft voice, and they share a meal: it’s one of the exceptionally rare occasions younghyun is permitted to eat at the same table, and conversation is fast-paced and fascinating.

once younghyun has finished preparing his master for bed, he returns to where jae is chatting with farran, the cook, and smiles at jae. “we are permitted to spend some time in the library, if you would like. you have a way with words, and there is some poetry i believe you would enjoy.”

jae stands, nods to the cook. “that would be great.”

the library is an enormous room, gilded shelves creaking under the weight of more books than jae thinks he’s ever seen in one place. cushions line the floor, a window alcove piled high with them, and this is where younghyun gestures for jae to sit. the light of the moon is just enough for jae to study the beading on a pillow as younghyun takes the candle with him to a shelf to find the books he wants, and then the hours slip past like a breeze as jae loses himself in the silk of younghyun’s voice.

verse and rhythm are as easy as breathing for younghyun, foreign syllables rolling off his tongue as though they were his native language, and the translator in jae’s ear gives him the english that jae doesn’t need to appreciate the beauty of the poetry.

in the early hours of the morning younghyun clears his throat. “there’s, um, there’s a song i would like to sing for you.”

jae perks up at that: music is his comfort zone, as beautiful as the poetry is. “i’d love to hear you sing.”

if it’s possible, jae falls further in the next few minutes. if younghyun’s speech is silk his singing is chocolate, creamy and rich and sweet, and he closes his eyes as he sings and the candlelight flickers over dark eyelashes on tanned cheeks and jae thinks he might kiss younghyun.

an hour later, when the sun threatens to render the candle useless, jae sighs. “i’ll be pulled back in a minute.”

younghyun’s smile is bitter, though soft. “and it will be hundreds of years for me until we meet again.”

“yeah. rather unfair, isn’t it? a few weeks for me, centuries for you.” jae frowns, but younghyun takes jae’s hand in his own, tips jae’s chin up until their eyes meet again. “give me something to remember you by.”

that’s all the prompting jae needs—he leans forward, meets lips as soft as a voice, breath that tastes of music, with his own need to be remembered. but surprisingly, he notes, no heartbeat under the hand he presses to younghyun’s chest.

they draw apart, after what seems like the centuries younghyun will be resigned to, and jae starts to ask about the lack of pulse. he can’t quite manage the words before the world flashes white and disappears.

 

…

 

“i kissed him.”

“you found him again?” jae nods, and sungjin considers that. “an immortal, maybe a century old by that point, and you’ve known each other for, what, two days?”

“one, for him.”

“and he was okay with it?”

“he asked me to. sungjin, _i kissed him_ and i don’t know where he’ll be next, i have no idea how to find him within the five centuries i have left.”

“will he still be in venice?”

“i doubt it. he tends to move around a lot—every twenty years, as far as i can tell, and he was traveling a lot in the 1500s. a merchant, all that.”

“we’ll just have to try some popular eras, and do some research in the meantime.”

“you sound like you’re taking me seriously.”

“you know, i was really doubting you, but there was a guy in india i could have _sworn_ was the same guy from my first trip, so to be honest, i’m not quite sure anymore.”

 

…

 

the trip is supposed to be a vacation. a week in england as a reward for finally finishing that paper on accurately calculating continental drift a thousand years in the past, a weekend lost in the present.

some baron or other is hosting a masquerade for his daughter’s birthday, so jae ties his half-mask around his head, tugs at his waistcoat, grins at the thought of a week of partying. he’s glad sungjin agreed to find a relatively simple mask; some of the intricate feathered monstrosities the women are wearing would likely have snapped jae’s neck in half from the weight.

he slips into the line for the doors, bows slightly to a woman in such a wide blue skirt he can’t get within five feet of her, and waits, glad for the chance to shake off the hum of the travel.

two men stand together further in line, a fox’s face fixed over one’s head, and jae thinks of younghyun, lets himself hope desperately for a minute. he shakes off the thought a moment later; stumbling on him once in venice was a coincidence, finding him here would be nothing short of a miracle.

he forgets about the man in the fox’s mask as soon as he presents his forged invitation to the steward and steps into the ballroom, instantly enamored with the glitter and glamor of the music and dancing and sweeping skirts and chatter. the champagne he snatches from a passing footman’s tray fills his stomach with bubbles and he lets a young woman resplendent in gold whirl him into a dance, her eyes a startling ice blue beneath the glitz of her mask.

an hour or so later, pleasantly tired from dancing, jae makes his way to the edges of the crowd, another glass of champagne on its way to bringing a flush to his cheeks.

he nearly drops his glass, however, when an arm tucks itself around jae’s elbow and pulls him toward the darkened hallway leading away from the ballroom. a glance to the side reveals the man in the fox’s mask, and an achingly familiar little smile, and then jae _does_ drop his glass.

younghyun bends, catches it, straightens in a move jae thinks shouldn’t be so surprising considering he used to be a general, and then the glass is abandoned on a table and masks are pushed up onto foreheads and in the dark of the hallway jae is pressed against a wall and his lips are pressed to younghyun’s, and _oh._

“you _bastard_ ,” younghyun whispers as his hand tangles in jae’s hair, “it’s been _eight hundred years_ since i’ve gotten to kiss you.”

“i’m sorry,” jae whispers in return, pleased when younghyun shivers as jae’s teeth graze his ear. “we were out of order, and i’ve been busy—”

younghyun does _something_ with his teeth and a particular spot on jae’s neck and jae forgets how to speak, how to think, how to focus on anything but skin on skin.

“mr. king?” a voice tugs younghyun away, leaves jae flushed and dizzy as he turns to the sound. a young man approaches, the feathers of his black mask flickering with purples and blues in the candlelight. “you vanished so suddenly, i thought perhaps you had fallen ill.” younghyun fidgets, moves to tug his mask back over his face. “i see now that perhaps i am right; sick with love is a notion that i, too, am intimately familiar with.”

jae bites his lip, glances at younghyun, yanks his coat back into place. “i—”

“there is no need to explain, sir.” there’s something familiar in the way the strange man touches younghyun’s shoulder, a level of comfort jae realizes mirrors his own. “mr. king and i are, ah, well aware of the aspects of each other society finds abhorrent.”

younghyun sighs; there’s a war raging in his eyes, quickly won by resignation. “do you know the way to the garden, oz? perhaps we all should sit and speak somewhere more private.”

oz navigates them out a pair of ornate french doors into an elegantly-kept garden, down twisting paths until they find a gazebo hidden among rose bushes as tall as jae. in the privacy of this gazebo, oz unties his raven’s beak mask, dangles the strings from his fingers, and jae could _swear_ he recognizes the face of the man before him.

younghyun clears up any confusion when he says “jae, i would like to introduce a university friend of mine, oscar wilde.”

“university friend?” oscar wilde is laughing, mischief in his eyes, smirking at younghyun. “wouldn’t you say that is...understating the circumstances, just a little, brian?”

younghyun sighs. “very well: oscar and i are...lovers, of a sort.”

jae nearly chokes, coughs on the surprise that catches in his throat. “you—”

“it isn’t anything serious,” younghyun says quickly.

“brian has told me about the man who manipulates time,” oscar says. “i presume you are this fabled jae?” jae can only nod. “fascinating. would you, perhaps, care to tell me more about this?”

“we cannot affect the timeline, oz,” younghyun says. “you know that’s why i maintain a low profile, when people could too easily realize i am not aging.”

oscar knows about younghyun’s immortality, then, and there’s a spark of something like jealousy flaring in jae’s chest. this man gets to spend a continuous period of time with younghyun, unfettered by a timer counting down until someone pulls him back. there’s another thing nagging jae.

“brian king?”

“easier than dealing with the complexities of a korean name in the british empire.” younghyun reaches out, laces his fingers with jae’s. “i hope you’ll forgive me for spending my time with oz, but you weren’t coming and i was lonely, and i made it clear that my heart is still with you.”

jae can only nod. to be quite honest, if jae was to be propositioned by a man like oscar wilde, he’s not sure he would turn it down either. “i don’t blame you, younghyun. i have a week, this time, so maybe you could show me more of what your life is like here.”

the party is quickly forgotten, his invitation left abandoned on the desk in younghyun’s study, as the trio picnics on the lake of younghyun’s estate, as oscar claims he needs time to study in younghyun’s impressive library and leaves younghyun to teach jae how to ride the thoroughbred mare he named after the little girl from goryeo.

jae wakes each morning to peace smoothing younghyun’s features, to sunlight dappling the tanned skin that peeks from beneath silk sheets, to slow, sleepy kisses pressed to any part of jae’s face younghyun can find with his eyes still closed, and thinks he could get used to this. thinks if he has to, he’ll scour every day of history in every country to find younghyun again.

on his last day, younghyun asks jae where he lives; upon hearing america, younghyun turns pensive. “perhaps that’s where i’ll find myself next, in that case. we’re not too far away from your time, and i have grown rather tired of europe.”

“america, then,” jae agrees, and leaves a last kiss on the corner of younghyun’s mouth, so that when the world disappears younghyun’s smile vanishes from jae’s sight but not his mind.

 

…

 

“he had a fling with _oscar wilde_ , sungjin! how the hell am i supposed to compete with that?”

“at least it was oscar wilde before he was _oscar wilde_ , you know? and it sounds like it was a pretty casual thing, so you should be fine.”

“well, what about you and that guy? didn’t you see him again in the french revolution?”

“i mean i _think_ so, but—”

“what if it is? what kind of luck would we have to both fall in love with immortals from other centuries?”

 

…

 

the palm trees are familiar, if nothing else: the second jae opens his eyes he can tell los angeles in the 1940s is a whole different universe than what it will be eighty years later. there are hints of the city he knows in the architecture, but he only manages two steps toward the main street before he’s slammed against the brick of the alley wall and kissed by lips he memorized sixty years ago on another continent.

when younghyun finally pulls away jae’s shocked but manages a breathless “what the hell?”

younghyun’s dark eyes are fierce as he studies jae, like he’s trying to memorize jae’s face. “we’re out of order again.”

jae sighs. “seriously?”

“we met at a bar in new york twenty-five years ago. you told me about this trip and honestly, i’m so _tired_ of being out of order.”

“what do you want me to do?”

“just—find me in your time. this hopping around, never knowing where we are in our relationship to you, i’m exhausted.” younghyun tugs jae’s vest straight and turns to the street. “i’ve only got a half-hour for my lunch break. _please_ tell me you’re here for longer than that.”

“twenty-four hours.” younghyun’s words take a moment to register properly in jae’s mind, and he takes in the sight of younghyun’s baggy pants, his coarse shirt, the grease on his hands. “where do you work?”

“airplane factory. not what i’d like to be doing, but after pearl harbor, i suppose i should take what i can get.”

“pearl harbor?” they’re headed for a little cafe younghyun promises has the best sandwiches in the city. “i thought that was the japanese?”

“it was. but to be honest, most people aren’t that picky about things; they see east asian skin tone and assume, and nobody wants their money handled by a ‘filthy jap.’”

jae hadn't quite expected the time period’s racism, so it takes him a second before he can figure out how to respond. “can’t you go anywhere else?”

“i might, now that i’ve gotten to the day with you. i couldn’t exactly move to mongolia when i knew we’d meet here.”

jae considers this, finds it a fair assessment of the situation. “i’m sorry, then, for resigning you to this.”

younghyun brushes it off and the conversation pauses as they order their sandwiches. “don’t worry about it,” he says once they sit. “it’s not like the war in goryeo wasn’t worse, or my stint in japan during the american invasion, or the whole mess with european colonization of africa. really, i shouldn’t complain very much.”

“still.” jae reaches out, touches the back of younghyun’s hand gently. “i don’t want you to feel stuck in one place because of me.”

younghyun laughs a little at that, his eyes curling in that way that makes jae’s stomach do somersaults. “i’m immortal, jae. you really think i would wait for you if i didn’t want? it’s not like i can’t find you in your time.”

“will you?”

“will i what?”

“look for me, in my time.”

younghyun considers this, as he drops the wrappings from their sandwiches in the trashcan and checks his watch. “not prematurely, obviously. just so i don’t fuck with the timeline, i’ll probably let you find me.”

the breeze picks up as they walk back to younghyun’s factory, ruffling jae’s hair. “what time do you get off?”

“five. i’ll give you the key to my apartment, if you’d like, so you don’t have to wander around until i’m done.”

arrangements are made and soon jae’s following younghyun’s careful directions to a third-story apartment in a somewhat run-down building on the edge of the industrial sector of the city. the rooms are cozy, if maybe a little small, and jae recognizes some of the books on the shelves from the libraries in jerusalem and england, or they’re at least reprinted editions. he pulls a copy of the arabic poetry collection from between a book of swedish folklore and a novel in portuguese, settles into a torn armchair by the window, and lets himself remember that night spent immersing himself in the chocolate of younghyun’s voice.

the sun is setting when there’s a knock on the door; it’s younghyun, jae sees, slumped against the wall and clearly exhausted. he grins wearily at jae. “don’t freak out.”

“why would i—”

there’s blood. his mind registers that there’s _blood_ coating younghyun’s hand in the same heartbeat he remembers a day in the eleventh century, a general with a sword of polished steel, and his breath stops.

“jae.” younghyun’s voice snaps jae’s head up  and away from the crimson starting to drip onto the floor. “it’s not really that bad. if you’ll let me into my own apartment, i have a first-aid box in my bathroom.”

numbly, jae steps out of the doorway, follows younghyun into the tiny bathroom, where younghyun rummages through a cabinet and pulls out a little box marked with the red cross symbol. “if you’re going to take up space in here, be useful,” younghyun says. “there’s antiseptic and a bandage in there.”

relieved at the thought of being able to help, jae cleans younghyun’s hand gently, and his heart starts beating normally again when he sees younghyun still has all of his fingers. he was right: the cut really isn’t that bad, and jae winds a bandage around tan skin and presses a kiss to each fingertip. “what happened?” he asks, and younghyun sighs, runs his free hand through his hair.

“one of the machines got jammed. i was there when those things were being invented, so i volunteered to unjam it. got my hand a little too close to one of the gears, came out bleeding.”

jae makes dinner, takes a minute to figure out the gas stove so that younghyun can rest. by the time they’re almost finished younghyun is yawning every minute or so, apologizing profusely when jae offers to do the dishes so he can sleep.

“i don’t want you to waste your twenty-four hours doing my housework,” he says, and jae shrugs it off.

“weird year, weird trip. i don’t mind, not when you’re this tired.” there’s a moment where younghyun looks as though he’s about to argue, and then he yawns again and sighs. “go to bed, baby,” jae says, and then stands from the table and snatches the dishes and hurries into the kitchen so that younghyun won’t see the flush on his cheeks.

he didn’t mean for the term of endearment to be vocalized, no matter how much he thought it during their week in england. of the nine centuries younghyun has been alive, jae’s been part of his life for maybe two weeks; assuming they’re far enough along in whatever kind of relationship you could classify this as is a stretch.

but younghyun laughs, follows jae into the kitchen to wrap his arms around jae from behind, drop a kiss on jae’s shoulder. “i’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart.”

he’s gone before he can see how much of an effect the words have on jae, how a plate clatters to the sink so that jae can grip the edge of the counter and breathe deep and try to regulate his heart rate again.

before he leaves for work the next morning younghyun tells jae the date and time they met in new york, and before jae leaves he settles the book of poetry on the arm of the chair, open to a piece by abu nuwas, a poem jae can only hear in younghyun’s voice.

 

…

 

“i’m out of order _again_.”

“by how many?”

“just one, it sounds like. lucky enough.”

“did he tell you where?”

“new york, prohibition era. should be interesting enough, i guess.”

“how many more of these trips are you gonna make, jae?”

“just this one. one more, to tell him to wait for me, and then i’m gonna get back here and find him.”

“you were right, by the way.”

“i usually am, but about what in particular.”

“about my boy. wonpil, says he met younghyun once in australia in the 1700s.”

“what kind of luck, i guess.”

 

…

 

it’s the prohibition; jae thinks maybe it should be harder to find alcohol.

instead, he ducks into a little jazz club on the edge of queens and is promptly given a list of bars in manhattan, a wink from one of the dancers, and instructions to burn the list once he finds a place he likes.

he catches a taxi across the east river, spends six of his forty-eight hours wandering from hidden bar to hidden bar, and finally he walks into a tiny bookstore tucked into a side street and asks for farran. the password to get into moonrise is _cassio_ , and jae smiles, thinks of a day on the streets of italy, a night in a tavern, midnight in the rigging of a docked ship.

he’s let into a surprisingly spacious back room and then there’s younghyun, wiping down glasses behind the bar, shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, hair slicked neatly away from his forehead. younghyun looks up when the door closes, and he slams the glass he’s holding down onto the counter and before jae can get halfway across the room younghyun is already standing in front of him, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“jae, i—”

“can we talk?”

younghyun nods once, lets out a breath, nods again. “mark, can you take over for a bit?” a handsome man with ashy blond hair gives his assent and whips on a little apron and takes younghyun’s place behind the bar, and younghyun pulls jae into a little bedroom up a tiny spiral staircase. “what did you want to talk about?”

“we’re out of order again. you found me in los angeles in the 40s, but that’s the first time i’ve seen you since england.”

the memory of silk sheets and sunny picnics gives them both pause, and then younghyun draws in a breath. “speaking of england…” for the first time jae _sees_ the centuries in younghyun’s face. “oz died.”

“i know.”

there’s something like resentment in younghyun’s dark eyes. “of course you do. as famous as his works have gotten in the past few decades, of course you know how he ended up.”

“his legacy is a good one.”

"his end wasn’t. imprisoned for sodomy, exiled, impoverished? _tell_ me things get better for people like us in your century.”

“they do. depends on the country, but we could marry in quite a few of them now, and it’s rare that you’d be arrested for it.”

in one breath it looks like the world lifts itself from younghyun’s shoulders. “so the timelines are off again?”

“i’m gonna find you in my year, this time.” jae reaches, cups younghyun’s cheek. “i’ve got about forty hours left here, but this will probably be my last trip.”

“how long will i have to wait?” younghyun’s fox eyes are desperate, his voice a whisper.

“like i said, i’ll see you again in about twenty years. after that, another seventy-five or so, which is a bitch of a gap but then we’ll be able to see each other every day.”

a sigh, a pause; younghyun considers. “forty hours, you say?” jae nods, looks up from where he’s playing with an emerald ring now considered an antique to see a hunger in younghyun’s features. “let’s make the most of it, then.”

before he has time to ask younghyun is pressing jae backward into the mattress, his mouth going for that one spot on jae’s neck.

somewhere in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt jae remembers: “what about the bar?”

“mark can handle it,” younghyun growls. “forget that.”

jae does.

he’s not quite sure how he’s going to explain the red blossoming on his chest to anyone except sungjin when he gets pulled back, but to be quite honest, he doesn’t really care anymore.

 

…

 

“what have you found?”

“it’s—uh, i think he’s a celebrity.”

“think?”

“know. look at this.”

“ _kpop idol sensation young k releases two new singles_. is that him?”

jae nods, studies the image on his phone carefully. “he looks good with orange hair.”

“and he’s got a concert two days from now. i’ll figure out getting you in; you’ve got a plane to catch.”

 

…

 

jae thinks he might as well have just time traveled: the plane ride was excruciatingly long, would have been even without the knowledge of what waits for him in korea.

he’s bouncing in his seat as the plane rumbles down the runway, the middle-aged woman next to him eyeing him with that unmistakable _kids these days_ expression. there’s no time to worry about that, though, not when he has just enough time to snatch his bag from the overhead and cut someone off for a taxi, pray. his phone dings with a forwarded email from sungjin; the concert ticket is open and ready to be scanned as he pays the taxi driver, jumps out of the car, slips into the line waiting to go through the doors to the concert hall. the audience is predominantly teenage girls; he has to ward off a few who squeal over finding a rare male fan as he heads to his seat.

the lights dim and jae’s breath catches; the first note rings through the space and his heart stops. he’s breathless through the entire thing, grateful for the balcony seat so that he can remain sitting and not have his legs give out from under him.

it _is_ younghyun—somehow, there remained slivers of doubt, even despite the countless fantaken photographs, the news articles, the albums on itunes.

when it comes time for the encore younghyun searches the crowd, brushes orange hair out of his eyes. “this song,” he says, “is for someone special, someone i’ve been looking for who supposedly has found their way to me now.”

time stops, in some way: it doesn’t, not really, but jae’s vision tunnels and the only thing he can focus on is younghyun, is the slap of guitar strings, is a chocolate voice, is the lines _in an empty room with no one inside i’m waiting for you to return_.

he’s in a daze when the song ends, when the lights dim once more, when a security guard pushes down his row asking for “jae? i’ve been told to find jae? park jae?” that’s him, he realizes, and he follows the guard backstage, through twisting corridors, into a dressing room crowded with stylists and bodyguards and makeup artists.

none of those people matter, though. the only person jae sees is the man perched on the counter with his back against the mirror, pressing a towel to orange hair dripping with sweat, smudged eyeliner beneath fox’s eyes. the second their eyes meet younghyun is ordering everyone out of the room, shoving himself off the counter to meet jae in the middle of the room, and they pause about a foot from each other until everyone is gone.

when the door clicks shut behind the last stylist younghyun falls into jae’s arms and jae staggers under the weight of the world, his world. there’s no greeting kiss, not this time: younghyun seems content just to cling to jae’s lanky frame, to bury his head in jae’s shoulder and breathe.

this arrangement suits jae just fine, but after a few minutes he pushes younghyun upright and drinks in his features, memorizes as though he could ever forget.

“you really came,” younghyun whispers, awe written in his eyes.

“after all that, you really think i wouldn’t?”

“seventy-five years is a long time to wait.” younghyun twines their fingers together, lets their breath fall in time. “there were times i had doubts.”

“i’m sorry i made you wait,” jae says. “sungjin thought it would be better, so we didn’t end up drastically out of order.”

“whatever the case.” with the ease that only comes with practice younghyun packs his instruments, his clothes, prepares to leave. “whatever the case, you’re here now.”

“that i am.” jae helps to lug younghyun’s things to the van, understands when younghyun ducks out of jae’s grip.

“i assume you don’t have a place to stay,” younghyun says, laughs when jae shakes his head. “good thing i’ve been starting to think my apartment is too big for just me.”

the next day, curled up on the leather couch in an apartment much grander than anything jae’s seen since the estate in london, jae asks about something he’s been thinking about since jerusalem.

“do you have a heartbeat?”

“not since goryeo.” younghyun takes jae’s hand and presses it to his chest, where his fingers are met with nothing but skin: no thump- _t_ _hump_ of a pulse. “i think that may be one of the technicalities of my immortality; my heart won’t ever stop beating, because it _isn’t_ beating.”

a pause—jae shifts, bites his lip. “about that, actually. you don’t age, do you?”

“no.”

“then what—”

“there’s something one of the other immortals i met once said. great man, kafele, we met in malawi when he was visiting the village he was born in. he said that if i ever tired of living forever, if there was someone i wanted to die with, there was a trick he’d heard of from some russian woman. that my heart might not beat, but yours does, and you can essentially give me your heartbeat. we’ll share it, and as long as your heart beats, mine does too. i’ll live for however long you do, and age with you, and when you die so will i.”

“would you be willing to do that? to die with me?”

“i’m not sure i could handle living after you,” younghyun says.

jae can’t tear his eyes away from younghyun’s. his voice can’t make it above a whisper. “how...what do i have to do?”

this gives younghyun pause. “you don’t need to think about it?”

“not at all. not if it’s what you want, not if i can spare you the pain of watching people you love die.” jae’s not sure he’s ever been so certain of something in his life.

“then—kafele said it’s done with a kiss, one with intent.”

“i think we’ve both found i’m good at that.” jae leans forward, lets his eyes close, lets his breath merge with younghyun’s, lets his body twine around younghyun’s, until he’s not sure where he ends and younghyun begins. His pulse drums in his ears until it doesn’t, until it stutters and skips a beat and then resumes its normal pace, and when he pulls away from younghyun and puts a hand on younghyun’s chest there’s a beat there, a pattern that matches the one in jae’s own ribcage.

younghyun smiles at him, impossibly soft, and kisses him again. “now i can stay with you.”

“forever?”

“forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @hihenlo and tumblr @dawnpil!! come scream to me about literally anything i will scream back i promise my vocal cords are in good shape  
> support me on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/dawnpil) !!


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